


To The Arms of The Same Sea

by sunflowertype



Category: TharnType the Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowertype/pseuds/sunflowertype
Summary: Thara Kirigun has had Thiwat Pawatthakun erased from his memories. Please never mention their relationship to him again.
Relationships: Tharn Kirigun/Type (TharnType)
Comments: 134
Kudos: 306





	1. a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

_"You're still going through with this?" Techno asks, tone serious in the semi-dark._

_It's a moonless night and the house is quiet. For once, No’s voice doesn’t carry above a whisper._

_“Yes,” Type says without looking away from his phone or the message backlit in an electric glow._

_The little characters stopped making sense an hour ago, but he can't seem to make his eyes shift from the screen to Techno’s face._

_“Type—” Techno starts but Type cuts him off._

_“I’m doing this, No.”_

_Of course, he’s going to go through with it. Everything he’s doing, he’s doing for Tharn, even if..._

_**Thara Kirigun has had Thiwat Pawatthakun erased from his memories. Please never mention their relationship to him again.** _

_Even if Tharn doesn’t remember him._

  
  


* * *

  
  


Tharn holds his phone to his ear with his shoulder and wrestles with the books in his hands before depositing them on his desk.

"Did you find it, P'Tharn?" Song's voice is excited and impatient. He'll be starting his first year of university in a month, before Tharn’s own courses begin, so Tharn doesn't hold it against him. "I promise to treasure it always."

Tharn laughs. "You know, it'll be your book, Song." He pulls the fifth book out from under the small stack. It's a slightly weathered copy of a music theory book from Tharn's own first year of university. 

"But my idol is giving it to me!"

Tharn shakes his head as he flips through the book to make sure he didn't tear any pages out or leave useless notes behind before he passes it down to his now junior and bandmate.

From somewhere in the middle of the book, a small blue square falls out and flutters down to the floor. Tharn picks it up and turns it over in his palm.

He doesn't recognize the writing as his own. It’s legible but looks like it was written in a hurry, ink smudged by a rushing hand. There’s a strange familiarity to it, even just holding the note gives him a sense of déjà vu. He can’t quite grasp the finer details of why though, the feeling slips through his mind like smoke. 

Tharn reads the note, _ASSHOLE THARN! Pha Ngan. Pawatthakun Resort. Remember, I've always been yours, and you'll always be mine._ The shocking bluntness makes him smile, but even more than that, it makes him ache for some reason. Who left this? 

"P'Tharn?" Song's voice snaps Tharn from his thoughts.

"Sorry, what?"

"I’m waiting to be buzzed in.”

“Right, sorry!” Tharn puts the note in a drawer and forgets about it for weeks.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He finds the note again rifling through the top drawer in his desk one evening looking for his favorite pen. He forgot all about the little blue square with its haunting words. 

Tharn holds it up, corner pressed between his thumb and index finger and reads it again with the same sense of vague familiarity and the same dull ache from two weeks ago. 

_ASSHOLE THARN! Pha Ngan. Pawatthakun Resort. Remember, I've always been yours, and you'll always be mine._

_Remember, I've always been yours, and you'll always be mine._

_Remember._

“I’m sorry,” Tharn says to the note. “I can’t.”

Tharn rubs his temple, a headache throbbing under his skin, inside his skull. He sits down at his desk and stares at the note, trying to remember. The forgetting, when did that start? Was it with this note? When his favorite hoodie went missing? Or was it when he woke up one bright morning six months ago in a condo he still doesn’t remember renting and the start of his second year of university looming so close.

Every memory from Tharn’s first year is hazy. Months of his life blurred softly into vague dark spots. The things he can remember have no context and when he thinks about them, it feels like they happened to someone else. 

Tharn closes his eyes, lets the spool of his recent memories unwind until there’s a tangible thread for his mind to focus on. 

It starts with Tar, sad and desperate. Clinging. Crying. He just won’t let Tharn leave—and he had to leave, but why? He can’t seem to remember the finer details. Lhong is there too in the shadows. He’s as still and insidious as gasoline on water waiting for a match to drop. They were best friends once and now Tharn can’t think of him without feeling sick. 

When his mind tries to shift toward the audio file he was sent from an unknown number, of Lhong’s awful confession, Tharn focuses harder on trying to remember where the blue post-it could have come from.

_Asshole Tharn!_

Further in that soft and blurry darkness of his memories, is a vague shape. It has no face but Tharn feels like he should know it. Sweat beads at his temple as he tries to hold onto that formless thing in his mind, but his head hurts worse and Tharn eventually stops.

He opens his eyes. The condo is empty, just him and the blue square with its little black letters staring up at him.

Tharn pins the post-it to the corkboard above his desk and crawls into bed, forgetting about his unfinished song.

  
  


* * *

  
  


_Type moves out of their shared apartment. It’s an easy—and awful—thing to do._

_Tharn hasn’t been back to campus in almost a week. So Type packs his things up in a few boxes without having to worry about any awkward run-ins with his ex. He physically grimaces at that thought._

_As he maneuvers around the room, he tries to avoid the way his memories snag and catch on things— their bed, the couch, their little dining table. All the places they spent the most time together._

_His memories try to hold him there in that room for as long as possible, flashing images of him and Tharn tangled and twined together._

_“I hate you,” Type says to the silence. “I hate you so fucking much, you asshole.”_

_It’s not the full truth, but it isn’t an outright lie either. There’s a tiny, microscopic part of him that hates Tharn for erasing his memories, for erasing him. But that part is so tiny and it doesn’t stop Type from rooting around for a marker and notepad. For old time’s sake, he thinks. He scrawls a little message, nothing more than a few words, and tucks it into a long-forgotten music book._

_Type knows he shouldn’t, that even if Tharn finds the note he won’t remember what it means, but he can’t stop himself from hoping. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance the wipe wasn’t thorough enough and seeing the words, **ASSHOLE THARN! Pha Ngan. Pawatthakun Resort. Remember, I have always been yours, and you will always be mine.** , will awaken something in Tharn. _

_Type sighs and gives the room a last look. “Goodbye, Ai’Tharn.”_

_He picks up his boxes and leaves the room. If he leaves with a few of Tharn’s shirts and a hoodie, oh well. Tharn won’t miss them the way Type already misses him._

  
  


* * *

  
  


After rediscovering the mysterious note, Tharn has the same dream for three nights. 

There are no images to them, no context, just Tharn adrift in a hazy darkness and a stream of chattering in his skull. Snatches of conversations tangled and weaved together in his messy memories. 

For three nights, Tharn’s sleep is interrupted by the voices and the crushing sense of desperation and heartbreak that plays out in his unconscious mind.

The first time he had the dream, he couldn’t understand the words. The second time, they became clearer, and by the third dream, Tharn knows the words by heart.

_“Let’s break up, Tharn._

_“I won’t put up with this anymore. I don’t want to play your ex-boyfriend’s game anymore. I’ve had enough.”_

While his dream self begs and calls out a name that always seems to sit on the tip of his tongue before he wakes but is gone when he wakes up.

  
  


* * *

  
  


_Things with Lhong go as well as to be expected, not that Type had any real expectations about a showdown with a fucking sociopath._

_Lhong landing a few solid punches to Type’s face is fine. Planned even. Type could deal with it as he wants Lhong to think he has the upper hand in order to confess to all the awful shit he’s done._

_“He doesn’t even remember you!” Lhong says, bearing down on Type’s throat with his hands. The glee in his voice is as raw and wild as his smile. “Tharn hates you so much he had you erased from his memories!”_

_It’s when Type is laid out on his back, the starless sky above him and the bastard’s hands around his neck that something desperate really shifts inside of him. His oxygen-deprived brain cells can only cling to one thought: he never told Tharn he loved him._

_You fucking idiot, Type thinks. He isn’t sure if he’s directing it to himself or Lhong. The harder the hands squeeze, the harder it is for him to stay present and aware._

_Spots flicker in and out of his vision. He might die here on the black asphalt, and his thoughts simply narrow down to how the only thing he wants to do right now is to say those three stupid words, but he can’t. Not anymore. The hot sting of tears pricks at the corner of his eyes._

_For a moment, Type thinks: I’m going to die here and for what?_

_And then Techno and Champ are pulling Lhong off of him. Type sucks in air like a starved man. He’s shaking the spots from his vision as his friends help him up._

_“Maybe he’ll never remember me,” Type croaks out. “But he’ll always remember you as a piece of shit, Ai’Lhong.”_

_Type wants to laugh at the panic on Lhong’s face when Techno waves the phone at him, but his throat feels like he swallowed glass. He thumbs the blood off his nose and stands up as straight as he can and gives Lhong the middle finger._

_“If I ever see your face again or hear that you’ve been sniffing around Tharn or Tar, I’ll kill you.” Type threatens with the energy he has left._

_He’s exhausted and sways on his feet. Techno and Champ rush to his side to hold him up._

_“Type, let’s go to the hospital.” Techno says. His voice is tight with tears and worry._

_“I’m fine,” Type replies. It’s a lie._

_He almost wants to break down. Everything he hasn’t said to Tharn, everything he wants to say, comes rushing up his throat like a swelling river. He clenches his jaw shut, bones aching with the force, and the words crash behind his teeth and stay there._

_“I just need to sleep it off.” Type says._

_“We can go back to my dorm,” Champ offers. “My roommate is a med student.”_

_Slowly, Type’s jaw unclenches. “Okay,” he agrees and finds he means it._

_The faster they move, the longer he doesn’t have to stand there and think about how nothing will change the way things are ending—have ended—between him and Tharn. He doesn’t want to think about how he wants so badly to wrap his arms around Tharn one last time, to hold him and kiss him. To be his again._

_Sometimes, not all stories have happy endings, though. He keeps his hands clenched in fists around Techno’s and Champ’s necks. They half-carry him back to Champ’s room bloodied, bruised, and broken-hearted._

  
  


* * *

  
  


Sometimes, when Tharn lets himself sit still long enough in his room, a ghost from his memories seems to lurk in his peripheral vision. It's an achingly familiar but vague shape. 

Dark hair. Skin that always seemed sun-kissed. It waits on the edges of his memories and never comes close enough for Tharn to remember anything more distinct about it—a faceless thing haunting him.

“I’m trying, you know.” Tharn whispers to it. 

What is it about this lonely ghost that fills him with such desperation to _remember_?

  
  


* * *

  
  


_Type never sees Tharn again after that awful night with Lhong._

_It dawns on him a week after that if it wasn’t for whatever computer algorithm that paired them together as roommates, Type would never have met Tharn in the first place._

_Their vastly differing program majors means they have lectures on opposite sides of campus at different times. And once Type stops going to all the places they used to go together, their small social circles rarely converge._

_Without some small act of fate, or mercy—Type isn’t sure which one he wants the most—he and Tharn wouldn’t be bumping into each other any time in the foreseeable future._

_He does his best to put it all behind him. He just needs to focus, Type tells himself, on making it until the term ends and then he can go home for a week and not be haunted by the shadows of his former relationship with Tharn._

_The worst of it was his counseling sessions. When he left feeling jagged and raw the first couple of times he went and all Type wanted was Tharn to be there and hold him together. Over time, that faded too though and Type can stomach it on his own now._

_He keeps his head buried in his classwork. He goes to football practice and matches regularly. In his free time, he tutors. Anything to keep his mind off Tharn. It works and doesn’t. Sometimes Type is so consumed by thoughts of Tharn—how he’s doing, if he’s eaten, where he’s at—that he feels like clawing his brain out of his skull. Other times, he can go weeks without thinking about Tharn. ___

____

____

_Slowly, the months crawl by like this and the cracks in his life piece their broken parts together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started writing this at the beginning of january and it's been through three rewrites... wild.
> 
>  **thank you to:** i feel like i have so many people to thank bc it felt like i had a little squad of amazing people helping me to keep my sanity in check. [bichenqing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bichenqing/profile) for... well everything really. [leejians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leejians/profile) ilu and thank you for inviting me to the crack server. [mythlesbian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythlesbian/profile), light of my life. [stonedsoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonedsoldier/profile) for all the encouragement. [hcterror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hcterror/profile) my twin! ilu. [sopetrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopetrash/profile) for kindly offering to beta. i love y'all.
> 
> tumblr | [here](https://sunflowertypes.tumblr.com/)  
> playlist | [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1lAzR1NONlemwm3QO9XR18?si=m5bVAGueSjSYudnI9i4XAA)


	2. the wisp sings (i’m tired of my grief)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **thank you to:** [sopetrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopetrash/profile) for being a wonderful beta!  
> &  
> certain words can be hovered over for meanings/translations!

It’s three weeks before Type starts his second year of university. He lays on his bed, unpacked clothes piled around him, in his now quiet dorm room. His roommate left an hour ago. Type should be packing since his flight leaves early in the morning, but he hasn’t worked up the energy for more than tossing and turning on his cluttered bed. 

He’s been trying to ignore the way the silence has been pressing in on him with each passing minute by half-heartedly playing a mobile game he downloaded earlier in the week. It doesn’t help. At all. The longer he keeps his phone in his hands, the more his fingers itch to message a certain number.

“He doesn’t remember you, asshole,” Type curses at his phone, at the reflection of himself on the screen. He knows very well what this is; the start of a spiral.

Type heaves himself off up. He grabs his hoodie off the pile of clothes on his bed and takes his wallet and room key from his desk. He leaves his phone on his bed and goes for a walk as his counselor advised him. 

_“Try to get out of your head for an hour or two— don’t enclose yourself in small spaces when you feel like you’re thinking about him too much.”_

He doesn’t have a destination in mind as he crosses the campus. He just walks and lets the evening atmosphere swallow him. Type’s feet guide him past the main strip of shops and restaurants while his thoughts remain blurred, flitting from what he’d like to eat at the various food stalls to the laughter of the anonymous crowds around him. He walks until eventually, his body stops.

Type’s feet have carried him to the memory clinic that clings to the outskirts of the university campus. An array of advertisements boast 70% success rates in selective memory erasure. He stands bathed in its ugly neon glow like he did on the night he received that fucking text message.

_Thara Kirigun has had Thiwat Pawatthakun erased from his memories. Please never mention their relationship again._

Once, he wanted to burn this place to the ground. Now, Type looks at it and thinks of how much Tharn must have been suffering when he decided to walk through the frosted glass doors. More than the breakup, more than Tharn having him erased from his memories, what hurts Type the most was putting Tharn through so much pain that he felt the need to even come to this place. 

He looks at the building for a moment longer, a hollow pit in his stomach, and abruptly turns back—heading toward the convenience store he likes. Standing there like some pathetic idiot, blaming himself for what’s already done and finished, wasn’t going to change a single thing. It wouldn’t bring him back to Tharn or Tharn back to him.

Tharn was everything Type wanted before he ever knew what he wanted, and now he has to learn to live without him. 

So as he’s trying to beat that thought into his brain, it’s a total gut-punch when he bumps into Tharn in the convenience store. 

It happens as Type is browsing through the crisps display and his hand smacks into another as they both reach for the same bag of spicy prawn snacks—Type’s favorite. He follows the hand up the veiny arm it’s attached to until he finds Tharn’s face staring back at him. 

Type stares up for a moment as Tharn’s eyes find his. There’s no love behind them. He looks at Type like he’s a stranger and that fucking hurts like nothing else. He smiles and Type’s stomach drops into a void so fast it feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs.

“Sorry,” Tharn says, nice and polite, hand drawing away from Type’s, “go ahead.”

Type curls his hand into a fist to keep himself from reaching out, to feel Tharn’s skin against his just a second longer. It’s such a strange, desperate feeling when he can still remember the times where he panicked whenever Tharn touched him in public.

He wants to go back in time and kick his own ass. 

Type keeps his hands to himself as he looks at Tharn. Even though they’re standing under ugly yellow fluorescent lighting, Tharn looks good. Maybe a little tired around the eyes, but good nonetheless. And that’s all that matters to Type right then. 

Tharn doesn’t look broken like he did the night Type ended things. He doesn’t look like his entire world had ended.

“I think you reached first.” Type says when he realizes the silence has gone on a beat too long. His eyes stay on Tharn’s face though.

He watches as something like recognition flickers into Tharn’s eyes. Type stands utterly still under his gaze, blood frozen in his veins despite the sweat beading at his temples and sliding down his back. 

_Do you remember me at all? I used to be yours._ He feels like every cell in his body is screaming at Tharn to recognize him.

“Nice hoodie,” Tharn says, “I have the same one somewhere. Haven’t been able to find it in months.”

Type’s stomach sinks. He hates the hope that had bubbled up inside of him and he looks down at himself, not wanting Tharn to see the disappointment on his face. Of course he’d put on the hoodie he stole from him. 

Your stupid hoodie has been with me this whole time, jackass—is what Type wants to say but he doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t say anything, which leaves Tharn to fill in the awkward lull between them.

Tharn fiddles with the ring on his thumb. “Do you like this flavor, too?” he asks.

The question is unexpected and it throws Type off for a second but he replies, “Uh yeah, I guess.”

Tharn smiles, but there's something a little off in the corners of it. “I’ve never had them, but when I saw them, I felt like I needed them.”

Type wants to tell him of the times he’d buy them especially for Type and then used to steal them from between his lips.

“They’re my favorite,” Type says. “You should definitely try them.”

He picks two bags and shoves them into Tharn’s hands and then, against his better judgment, Type asks, “How are you?”

Tharn’s eyes widen. Surprise has always been a good look on him, especially if Type is the one that put the look on his face.

“I’m okay,” he says after a beat.

That’s all Type wanted to know. He just wanted to hear from Tharn’s own mouth that he was okay rather than the text messages from Techno or Champ when they happened to bump into him.

It eases some of the tension in him.

“I’m glad—” Type starts and quickly cuts himself off. The words he wants to say: _glad you didn’t waste too much time crying over that fucking asshole, he doesn’t deserve it_ —lay themselves to rest in the graveyard of a thousand other things Type wants to say. 

It’s Tharn’s turn to laugh and Type drinks in the warm sound despite how his skin stretches tight across his bones. Maybe with some more time, they could be friends and every little thing Tharn does won’t affect Type so much. 

For now, though, he wants to leave before his skeleton claws its way out of his flesh.

Type gives Tharn a small, polite _wai_. “I should head back now.”

He turns to go, but Tharn’s hand wraps around his wrist in a solid, familiar hold. For a moment they both stare down at where their skin connects and then slowly, they meet each other’s eyes. 

A shadow flashes in Tharn’s dark eyes before his fingers loosen their grip.

“Sorry,” he says in a quiet voice. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Type shrugs the apology off, rubbing at the spot Tharn’s hand had just been touching. “It’s okay.” His voice is quite too.

“Do I know you?” Tharn asks.

Type wants to say— _yes, you loved me once_ — it’s on the tip of his tongue even, but he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed and Type’s heart wavers. “Going off-campus for the break, then?” Tharn asks when Type can’t seem to make himself move, leave. Flee.

“Pha Ngan.” Type replies.

Tharn only stares back at him, eyes reflecting Type in the terrible convenience store lighting. He scrubs his hand through his hair in frustration. What a pain in the ass, he thinks. Of course, Tharn doesn’t remember. It is only Type that’s cursed with that burden. 

The awkward family dinner they had at Tharn’s house. Accidentally kicking P’Thorn under the table. The quiet promise of going to Pha Ngan together. The thrill of being fucked in Tharn’s bed while his family slept.

Type remembers everything and it’s exhausting all of a sudden, standing in front of this Tharn that doesn’t know him while his mind is filled with a different Tharn, one that loved him back.

“Have a good break, Tharn.” He says weakly. 

Type leaves the convenience store with his tail between his legs, no snacks and no closer to Tharn ever remembering he used to call Type his.

  
  


* * *

  
  


_Tharn buys the bags of crisps, spilling his change across the counter because his hands are shaking so much. He walks toward his condo, because there’s no way he can go back to band practice now, and his thoughts are on the boy from the shop._

_Black hair. Sun-kissed skin. Wearing Tharn’s missing hoodie—and he’d know that hoodie anywhere. It was a faded burgundy with Tharn’s initials embroidered over the heart, a gift from his brother when he returned from a trip overseas._

_When Tharn returns to his room, he rushes to his desk and puts the bags down. With reverence, he picks up the post-it. All he has are his messed up memories, the little blue square, and a nameless, sad-eyed boy wearing his hoodie in a convenience store. It’s not much to go on but..._

_Tharn’s heart hammers behind the bones of his ribs._

_“I found you,” he says to himself, to the note, to all the spectral-like memories hanging around his condo. “I finally found you.”_

  
  


* * *

  
  


When he’s back in the safety of his dorm room, Type calls Techno. Techno calls Champ. Someone invites Oam and Team. At some point, alcohol is purchased and Type’s pity party really kicks off.

“So, what happened?” Techno asks when he squeezes himself beside Type, between the wall and the bed.

Type keeps his eyes on Champ, Oam, and Team as they set up for the next round of the King Game. “What’re you talking about?” he slurs when he speaks.

Techno’s elbow is sharp when he plants it into Type’s ribs. 

“You called me out of nowhere, said to bring some drinks, and you haven’t said a word about why. Just sat in this corner by yourself looking like someone cut your balls off.”

Type snorts but he doesn’t say anything. He’s afraid once he starts, he won’t know how to stop.

“Come on man,” Techno gently nudges him. “What happened?”

“I ran into Tharn.”

Techno, fingers which were tapping to the beat of the music streaming from Type’s laptop still. Type doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s trying to figure out how to ask him how it went. 

“It sucked,” he says, beating Techno to the punch. “I saw him and he didn’t remember anything about me. At all. There was a second where I thought he did, but he didn’t and that fucking sucked.”

Type downs the rest of his drink in a single swallow, barely feels the burn of it going down, and lets his head fall back on the wall. The tears are slow in their start, rolling out of the corners of his closed eyes and down his cheeks. This is why Type didn’t want to talk about it tonight; it hurt too much.

He just wanted to drink until he blacked out. For one night, he wanted to forget too.

“I love him, Techno.” Type says. His voice shakes, and he’s glad the music is loud enough that the others can’t hear how it breaks. “What the hell am I supposed to do without him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **thank you to** everyone that left comments/kudos on the previous chapter. thank you so much. i was so touched by everyone's kindness ;; 
> 
> **thank you to the usual suspects:** [bichenqing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bichenqing/profile) [leejians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leejians/profile) [mythlesbian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythlesbian/profile) [stonedsoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonedsoldier/profile) [hcterror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hcterror/profile) i love y'all.
> 
> tumblr | [here](https://sunflowertypes.tumblr.com/)  
> playlist | [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1lAzR1NONlemwm3QO9XR18?si=m5bVAGueSjSYudnI9i4XAA)


	3. trade your heart for bones (to know you need to come back home)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **thank you to:** [sopetrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopetrash/profile) for being a wonderful beta! 
> 
> &&&
> 
> you can hover over certain words for meanings/translations!

If there is one person Tharn knows he can trust above all others, that person would be his older brother. He doesn’t like involving Thorn in his problems, he’s always felt his brother had enough to worry about without Tharn heaping his own baggage onto him. Even if Thorn nagged him to open up more, to talk about his problems, Tharn couldn’t bring himself to do it.

So sitting across from his brother in a cafe on an overcast Saturday morning, Tharn doesn’t even know where to start. Thorn knows the vague, surface-level things of his life and Tharn can’t quite figure out how to bring him in on the sharper details. 

He thumbs the condensation off his drink. Has it always been this awkward between them? Tharn can’t remember the last time they ever sat and talked, just the two of them.

“I feel like I’m having a flashback,” Thorn says after taking a small sip of his coffee.

Tharn feels his brows knit together. “What do you mean, P’Thorn?” He can’t recall them sitting down together in a cafe in his recent memories.

Thorn freezes. He looks at Tharn, seems to realize what he said, and then looks away. It sends a small, red flag up in Tharn’s mind.

“Nothing,” Thorn says hurriedly. He takes a longer sip of his coffee this time, swallows, and then leans toward Tharn. “So, my favorite little brother, what’s going on, huh?”

The red flag in Tharn’s mind goes up a bit higher and now he’s unsure of this entire meeting. Thorn doesn’t lie often so it’s easy to tell when he is. He’s trying too hard, Tharn thinks. It’s in the way his smile doesn’t meet his eyes.

Under the table,Tharn puts his hand inside his pants pocket, feeling the thin piece of paper resting inside.

“P’Thorn, if I asked you not to lie to me, would you be able to do it?” Tharn asks, low and plaintive.

“Tharn—”

“I just want the truth.”

They stare at each other for a moment before Thorn sighs. Tharn didn’t notice before, but there’s a tightness around his eyes.

“Fine,” Thorn agrees, “I promise I will tell you the truth.” There’s a distinct _even if I don’t want to _in his tone.__

__“Thank you,” Tharn says, and he means it._ _

__He carefully takes the blue post-it from his pocket and pushes it across the table. “Do you know what that means?”_ _

__Tharn watches Thorn read over it. His brows draw together and Tharn can’t be sure, but something like recognition comes over his brother’s face._ _

__“Where did you find this?” Thorn asks as he gives the note back._ _

__“It fell out of a workbook.” Tharn replies. He holds the little square in his palm and looks down at it._ _

__“I guess there’s no use in beating around the bush,” Thorn says. He takes another drink of his coffee, clearly steeling himself for whatever he’s about to say, and Tharn can’t help but sit up to listen._ _

__“You went through a really awful break up with the guy who wrote that note. You cried for days, Tharn. I’d never seen you like that before and it scared me.” Thorn stops himself, taking a breath to calm down._ _

__“I would remember something like that though, wouldn’t I? I can barely remember anything...” Tharn says. If he tries hard enough, he can recall a distant sense of heartbreak, despair, and maybe anger but the feelings are so far removed from him that may as well belong to someone else._ _

__“You had him erased from your memories, Tharn.” Thorn replies quietly._ _

__The world around Tharn seems to shift, to slide just a bit, and he finds himself feeling dizzy. He erased his memories? How was that possible—it wasn’t right? His thoughts crash into each other. A sinking feeling settles over him as Thorn holds out his phone for Tharn to take._ _

___Thara Kirigun has had Thiwat Pawatthakun erased from his memories. Please never mention their relationship to him again._ _ _

__Tharn’s hands tremble at the short message staring up at him. Thiwat Pawatthkun. He puts the name to the face of the guy in his hoodie. It doesn’t stir up in any old memories, but it feels right. Type, Tharn repeats in his head._ _

__“Why?” Tharn asks even if part of him is scared to learn the answer. He hands the phone back to his brother._ _

__Thorn looks at him and sighs. His fingers tap against the side of his ceramic coffee cup and Tharn can see him debate with himself for a moment before he speaks._ _

__“It was because of Lhong.”_ _

__Tharn’s stomach curls at the name of his former best friend. “What do you mean?”_ _

__Thorn looks past Tharn’s shoulder and out the window. “Your ex-boyfriend broke up with you because of Lhong. We sat in a cafe like this one and I made him explain everything to me.”_ _

__He looks at Tharn and there’s a sadness in his eyes that makes Tharn’s heartbeat heavier in his chest._ _

__“What is it, P’Thorn?” Tharn asks softly._ _

__“Are you really sure you want the truth?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__They look each other in the eyes for a moment and then Thorn pinches the bridge of his nose. He smiles faintly while shaking his head._ _

__“I’m your big brother, Tharn. I’m supposed to protect you, even if it’s from yourself,” Thorn says. “Telling you this, isn’t easy for me, you know?”_ _

__Tharn bows a little under the tender affection. His brother has always been like this but it still makes him feel shy. “I know,” Tharn replies softly, “I’m sorry.”_ _

__His brother smiles but it’s not an entirely happy one. “Do you... remember anything about why you’re not friends with Lhong?”_ _

__Tharn feels sick just thinking about the audio clip he was sent anonymously of Lhong admitting to the terrible things he’d put Tar through. “Yeah, somewhat,” Tharn replies._ _

__“Type figured out what Lhong had done, what he would’ve continued to do, so he broke up with you to expose Lhong. He did it... to protect you, Tharn. I wanted to tell you the day I found out, but by the time I got home it was too late. You’d already gone to the clinic. I got the message a few hours before you came back.” Thorn takes a drink from his coffee to allow his words to sink in._ _

__Tharn sips his own drink, his head feels heavy with all his thoughts. He erased his own memories over a misunderstanding? A temporary heartbreak? Tharn scrubs a hand over his face. While he thinks in circles, an idea blooms from the chaos in his skull—a little thing but his mind latches on to it like a lifeline._ _

__He doesn’t quite understand why he’s so desperate to fix this, but something in his heart tells him he has to._ _

__

____

  
  


* * *

  
  


_By the time Type lands in Koh Samui and catches the ferry to Pha Ngan, he feels more alive. His hangover is mostly gone taking the splitting headache with it. The sun beats down warm and pleasant, shining off blue waters that stretch for miles. As the sticky sea air whips against his face, Type feels free. For the first time in months, he’s happy._

_Even the sound of a foreigner throwing up over the side of the ferry again for the third time makes him smile. They’re approaching the dock and like always, Type’s stomach clenches with a sense of homecoming._

_He disembarks from the ferry, just another face in the crowd. He’s excited and happy to be home. Even more than that, Type feels like every step closer to the island he takes, he feels more and more like himself again—normal and whole._

_Type makes his way to a familiar blue and white _songthaew_ idling in the pick-up/drop off zone. Pawatthakun Resort is written neatly along the sides of the truck in Thai and English. He climbs into the back of the truck and it sets off for the resort. _

_It’s not a long drive and Type spends most of it dozing on and off until his phone vibrates in his hand. He unlocks the screen and swipes to see the text from his mom saying lunch will be ready by the time he gets there. He sends her a cute sticker in response and backs out of the message._

_Type looks down at his screen and his eyes land on the message from the memory clinic for a second. He doesn’t open it; the contents are engraved in his brain forever._

_“Khun Type?”_

_He becomes aware of the driver calling his name and Type locks his phone screen and slides it back into his pocket. He gets out of the truck and looks up at the resort._

_It sits at the top of the hill, rustic but welcoming. Home, he thinks, as he watches his dad come down to greet him. Just like that, all of shit he left behind in Bangkok, everything with Tharn, melts into the background._

_Type spends time with his mom and dad. He doesn’t mention anything about Tharn—even when his dad teases and pushes his buttons about dating. When he’s asked, Type helps out with the various odd jobs around the resort. He naps in his favorite spot on the cliffs with the breeze blowing in his hair and the ocean crashing gently below him._

_And later in the evening, after dinner has been eaten and good nights have been given, when the house is quiet and washed in moonlight, Type lays awake in his bed. He’s tired and achy from the general maintenance work his dad asked him to do but underneath that a small sense of pride blooms in his chest in the darkness._

_He had one slip up where he thought about Tharn for a few seconds in the songthaew, but it was such a small moment that he forgot about it shortly after._

_“We can do this,” Type whispers to himself with cautious optimism. “It’ll be okay, Type.”_

  
  


* * *

  
  


Tharn sits on his bed bathed in the light of his laptop. The condo is still and dark around him. He feels weighed down with everything he’d learned—and still has to learn. If someone dropped him into an ocean, he’d sink with the heaviness of it all. 

A spotlight goes on in his mind, illuminating thoughts and questions he spent most of the day trying not to think about. 

What has Type gone through since Tharn had the procedure? Something in him mourns at that, at the possibility of Type being hurt and alone. Tharn hates that he did this to himself, to Type—to their relationship.

That unravels threads of thought and thrusts them into the forefront of his brain.

What if Type has moved on since writing the note? He recalls the look on Type’s face when they bumped into each other in the convenience store. The look Tharn couldn’t decipher when he’d reached out for Type’s arm. Was it hurt or hope?

At the end of all of this, if he gets his memories back, would Type even forgive him? Would he love Tharn the same way?

Tharn doesn’t have the answers, but he wants them—he wants to know, to remember, what sort of expression Type made when he wanted Tharn. When he didn’t want him. 

He looks down at his hands with a bone-deep tiredness. In one hand he holds the post-it note. _You had him erased from your memories._ In his other hand is a puffy envelope containing a USB drive and his intake forms he got from the tired-eyed receptionist at the memory clinic.

Initially, the receptionist didn’t want to give the file over. Under the dim lights of the off-white waiting room, he cited patient privacy rights and the clinic’s terms of service wouldn’t allow him to give out a patient’s data, even if the patient was the one asking for it. After Thorn made some casual remarks about lawyers and police, the envelope made its way into Tharn’s hands. 

He thinks about what Thorn said as they stood outside the memory clinic, backlit in its awful neon glow. 

“You had him erased from your memories for a reason, Tharn. What’s the point of trying to remember now?” His brother’s voice is concerned, and not without cause.

Tharn had looked at him and said, simply, “I have to try.”

He closes his eyes now and thinks about Thorn’s question. What is the point? 

Tharn’s fingers curl into the soft padding of the envelope. The point is he may have made a mistake in a moment of overwhelming heartbreak. The point is he feels like he’s lost a part of himself and he has to find it, or at least try, and get it back.

The point is he’s still in love with Type. He can _feel_ it, even if he can’t remember.

Tharn opens his eyes and shakes the USB drive out of its former puffy home. He plugs it into his laptop. The few seconds he has to wait for it to load feel like years. His stomach flutters when the folder opens and reveals six audio files each one labeled with his name, the date they were recorded, and their sequential number.

He hesitates. The cursor hovers over the first file and his insides twist from nervousness. Before he lets the doubt consume him, Tharn starts the audio clip.

_“My name is Tharn Kirigun and I’m here to have Thiwat Pawatthakun erased from my memories.”_

It’s strange to sit and listen to a version of himself he doesn’t remember spill his heart out to anonymous strangers. But he does it, for hours. Tharn plays through the recordings over and over, waiting for something, anything to happen. He hoped that by getting the audio files they’d be a key and listening to him recount his life with Type would unlock the door.

By the time he starts nodding off, the night has crawled into morning and he’s no closer to recovering his missing memories than when all this started. Frustration and anger coil under his skin, hot and sharp. If Tharn could go back in time, he’d punch himself for being so stupid.

He could hear in his own voice, under the pain and grief, the love he had for Type. To go and have all of that erased because of a break up that wasn’t really a breakup...

Tharn sighs in the silence and curls up in his bed. Unable to do anything else, he closes his eyes knowing full well if he kept them open any longer he’d start crying.

Eventually, Tharn drifts into sleep and his subconscious mind bursts to life. His dreams are a kaleidoscope of sound and pictures—memories knitting themselves back together in his brain. 

His dreaming mind creates a tide that takes the hazy darkness away and when it drifts back in, he’s awash in the color, in the laughter and shouting and tears of his returned memories.

_Pha Ngan. Pawatthakun Resort. Remember, I've always been yours, and you'll always be mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who commented/left kudos on previous chapters. i was so touched by all the kindness and support! 
> 
> **thank you** to the usual suspects: [bichenqing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bichenqing/profile) [leejians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leejians/profile) [mythlesbian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythlesbian/profile) [stonedsoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonedsoldier/profile) [hcterror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hcterror/profile)  
> tumblr | [here](https://sunflowertypes.tumblr.com/)  
> playlist | [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1lAzR1NONlemwm3QO9XR18?si=m5bVAGueSjSYudnI9i4XAA)


	4. when the currents circle back again, they'll carry us with them to the arms of the same sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **update** there will now be six chapters :)
> 
>  **thank you to:** [sopetrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopetrash/profile) for being a wonderful beta!  
> &&&  
> certain words (in italics) can be hovered over for meanings/translations!

_“Tharn, are you sure this is a good idea?” Even through the phone, Tharn can tell what face his brother is making. Something concerned, maybe even a little terrified._

_“No, but I have to try.” Tharn replies. “I’ve already booked everything. I’m telling you in case... just in case.”_

_He wants to be stupid and brave and so he doesn’t let himself think too hard about the possibility of his big plan crashing and burning around him in the end._

_“Tharn...”_

_“I know. I’ll be fine.”_

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next morning, that sense of optimism Type went to sleep with is still there. Even when his mom wakes him up early and puts him to work around the resort it clings to him like a second skin. He’s home, his stomach is full of his mom’s _khao man kaeng neua_ , and he feels lighter and tentatively happier.

His first duties of the day are cleaning the pool and hot tub. They are fairly recent additions, added when Type was about fourteen and he’s been in charge of their upkeep since. When he went away for school his parents hired the proper staff to maintain them, but when he visited, the maintenance fell on him.

His family’s resort isn’t the fanciest or most modern. It’s on the more rustic side compared to the other hotels on the island. But everything it is now is the direct result of his mom and dad working day and night to keep it running and Type took pride in that, in being able to help his parents with the minutiae of the resort when he could.

Type goes through the circulation and cleaning process with his mind totally focused on the work. He checks the filters for both the hot tub and the pool. They’ve been cleaned and emptied recently so he doesn’t need to do anything more than get the automatic cleaner from the supplies shed and let them do their work in the pool.

He sits on the edge of the pool while the little whale-shaped machine runs along the bottom of the pool. Type watches the morning sun glitter off the gulf and a thought spills into his mind the way the sunlight does over the water.

**No.** He isn’t going to waste any more time and energy on the what-ifs of what his former relationship with Tharn could have been. Rather than letting the thought unfurl in his head, Type bolts up. 

The pool sits enclosed around a patio that overlooks the gulf and he moves, his body acting on impulse, around the side of the bar to where the patio ends in quick strides. 

Without a second thought Type vaults over the wooden railing and dives feet first into the pink-tinged sea. He lets himself sink to the sandy ocean floor, eyes closed, and listens to the sound of his heart beating in his ears. Anything to drown out his thoughts of Tharn. 

He sits in the arms of the cool gulf waters, silently begging it to carry away all his hurts like he once did as a child. 

Type only surfaces when his lungs begin to burn and he feels more centered and less overwhelmed. He trudges to the beach, soaking wet. He climbs back up to the patio and finishes his tasks without another incident. 

He even busies himself with other menial tasks—sweeping the patio and setting up the tables around the bar—anything to keep himself, and his thoughts, occupied. 

He’s putting the automatic cleaners back in the shed when his stomach growls so loud he’s sure everyone in Bangkok could hear it. 

Type heads back to the house mostly dried off now. His mom has set up lunch on the back patio. Plates of _kao mok gai ข้าวหมกไก่_ and _bai liang pad khai_ are laid out on the table. His stomach grumbles appreciatively at the sight of the eye-catching yellow rice, juicy chicken, and the leafy greens. 

He’s tempted to just help himself to everything but Type decides to be a good son. He heads toward the front of the resort. His mom is probably still in the lobby and his guess is correct when he hears her voice as he rounds the corner. 

Type spots her talking with a man standing at the reception desk. He’s wondering what the best way to interrupt would be when he freezes awkwardly behind them. 

He recognizes the man’s voice instantly—he’d know it until the day he died, and even then, it would follow him into the afterlife Type is sure of it. 

His stomach twists into knots at the scene before him. Tharn stands in front of the desk, smiling down at Type’s mom, as he checks into the resort. Type’s heart jumps erratically in his throat. His hands shake at his side. 

Just as quietly as he came, Type leaves. He runs as fast as his feet will carry him down the stairs to the main street. He only stops when his sandal-clad feet hit warm water. He sinks down on his haunches and catches his breath. The beach is vacant and Types feels a sort of relief that he can break down in peace. 

In the back of his mind is Tharn’s voice. _"You're surprisingly a coward!"_

So what? Type thinks. So what if he ran away? The love of his life doesn’t remember him, he can take a moment to be the world’s biggest coward couldn’t he? What was it his counselor said? He’s allowed to be upset and hurt. 

Type scrubs his hand through his hair. “Shit.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


_Tharn isn't sure what he expected when he walked onto the beach. He had hopes, tiny little things in the bottom of his heart and the back of his mind, that he tried not to think too hard about. But standing in the sand, the gulf stretched out in front of him, Tharn is unsure._

_All of his bravery from this morning left him the moment he decided to leave his room at the resort; pulled by some unknown force toward the sea. Now he just stands on this beach with nothing left but his stupidity. Stupidity and the post-it note in his back pocket. It’s his last tether to Type and he’s memorized every word. _ **Pha Ngan. Pawatthakun Resort. Remember, I've always been yours, and you'll always be mine.**_ _

_Tharn looks out across the water. What the hell is he doing here? The little ocean waves crash at his feet as a greeting but they offer him no answers. He walks with no destination, no plan, down the beach._

_Objectively, Tharn knows he could text Type—as soon as he remembered his number, Tharn put it in his phone with shaking fingers. He’d thought about it on the ferry ride over to the island, thumbs poised to tap away at his screen, but he had chickened-out. Tharn doesn’t even know if Type is on the island; he’d tried to look around while at the resort without seeming suspicious. Tharn could text him, call him even, just to find out but he hasn’t been able to work up the courage._

_Mostly, Tharn doesn’t know what he’d say to Type—what he could say?—and if it would even make a difference. He just wants the chance to try._

_Tharn’s eyes catch on a shape a few meters in front of him. Something about the hunched down body and dark hair causes his stomach to clench. The head lifts from the arms it was tucked in and Tharn’s heart races in his chest._

_He knows that profile; the shape of the nose, the smooth cheek, and the softness of the lips. Tharn’s feet move before he can really stop himself._

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Type?”

He looks over his shoulder and finds Khom standing behind him. Type’s head droops a little and he can’t help but think, _here come the buffaloes_.

Khom squats besides Type. “I saw you running down the hill. You looked like you were being chased by a _pret_.”

Type looks at him and that night all those months ago, when Khom came out as gay, plays suddenly in his memory. If he could travel back in time, Type would beat his past self to a pulp. He doesn’t know how Khom can just casually sit beside him as if Type wasn’t an awful prick to him a few months prior.

“In a way,” Type says eventually, “you’re not wrong.”

“Want to talk about it?” Khom asks, short and simple. It’s how he’s been since they were kids. If something needed to be said, he’d say it. If something needed to be asked, he’d ask it. If Khom sensed Type was upset about anything, he wanted to help get to the root of it. 

Which just further drives Type’s past dickhead behavior home.

“I’m sorry,” Type blurts out. 

Khom looks at him like he has sprouted a third head and Type continues.

“I’m sorry for all the shit I said back then. It was unfair and I was being a massive bastard.” 

The apology feels stupid and sounds worse when he finally gets it out of his mouth. Not because he doesn’t mean it, but because it feels too little too late. Type knows nothing will ever make what he said that day right, but he doesn’t know what else to do. 

Khom doesn’t reply right away and that sets Type further on edge. He isn’t sure what he’ll do if his best friend can’t forgive him.

“A massive _biggoted_ bastard,” Khom responds after a long stretch of silence. He shoves Type’s shoulder, hard, but also gives it a solid squeeze. There is acceptance and forgiveness in the gesture that eases some tightly wound chord inside of Type.

“Hearing you apologize makes my skin crawl.” Khom gives a full-body shiver for effect and then cocks his head to the side and says, “So, what’s up?”

“My ex-boyfriend showed up at the resort today.” Type says and feels a tiny kick of victory when Khom chokes on air.

“Your _what_?” Khom wheezes out between coughs.

“My ex-boyfriend.” Type repeats slowly. Saying it out loud is no small feat for him, but he figures he’d better get used to it now rather than later.

Khom wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes look past Type, clearly weighing the decision to ask him about it or not.

Type tells him everything. His and Tharn’s beginning. The wild middle bits, plus or minus a few stories about their sex life—those are Type’s to keep forever. The awfulness of their ending. When he’s finished, Type’s hand shakes as he scrubs it through his hair. 

He feels emptied out, as if someone has taken a spoon and scraped his insides hollow and raw like a watermelon.

“Shit, Type,” Khom says quietly. "I'm sorry."

“And now he’s here and I don’t know what to fucking do.” Type admits, shrugging off his friend's apology.

“You don’t want to try talking to him?” Khom asks, picking his words carefully while he draws in the sand with his finger. 

Type looks at him, eyebrows raised.

“Okay, sorry." Khom holds his hands up. "Um. You can stay at my place, if you want,” he offers instead. “I’ll introduce you to my boyfriend.”

Type almost agrees. It’d be nice not to have to constantly worry about bumping into Tharn around the resort, but that asshole’s voice speaks up from the back of his mind again, calling him a coward. 

“Maybe next time,” Type replies. “I’ve still got some work to do back home.” It’s not a total lie, at least. 

“Are you going to be okay if I leave your ass here?” Khom asks. He eyes Type with suspicion.

“Yes, jerk.” Type says. “I’ll probably head back in a bit. I just needed a moment.”

Khom looks him over before getting up and dusting the wet sand off his shorts. “If you need anything, Type, you know I’m here for you.”

Type’s ears burn, thrown off by the casual affection in his friend’s tone. He pretends to gag instead of giving Khom a response. Khom laughs, gives him a short wave, and leaves Type to sit alone on the beach.

The early evening sun glints off the blue gulf waters and Type knows he should go back, his ass is starting to go numb as it is, but he can’t quite find the energy to push himself up on his feet. The idea of just bumping into Tharn by chance has him feeling like he’s ready to crumble from the inside out. 

He sighs into the salty breeze and throws himself back on the sand leaving the waves to tickle his feet as he lays there on the beach. A few minutes pass by in this quasi-peace until a shadow falls over him. 

Type thinks it's Khom, and without thinking or even opening his eyes, he asks, “Did you forget something?”

“You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i post this at like 5am? yes.
> 
> thank you to everyone who commented/left kudos on previous chapters. especially the ones that read and comment on every chapter ;; thank you and i love you!
> 
>  **thanks to** : the usual suspects: [bichenqing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bichenqing/profile) [leejians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leejians/profile) [mythlesbian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythlesbian/profile) [stonedsoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonedsoldier/profile) [hcterror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hcterror/profile)  
> tumblr | [here](https://sunflowertypes.tumblr.com/)  
> playlist | [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1lAzR1NONlemwm3QO9XR18?si=m5bVAGueSjSYudnI9i4XAA)


	5. sunset lover (hallelujah, i’m down there on the beach...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **thank you** [sopetrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopetrash/profile) for continuing to be a wonderful beta!

Type’s heart hammer’s in his chest. He almost doesn’t want to open his eyes. He’s afraid he’s somehow dreaming or hallucinating. His only anchor to reality is the water licking up his ankle and he isn’t sure if that makes it better or worse. He doesn’t feel ready to face the possibility that Tharn is, in fact, standing over him.

Slowly, Type takes a breath in through his nose and cracks his eyes open. Backlit by the fading sunlight, he finds that Tharn is really staring down at him. He has his bottom lip caught slightly between his teeth—nervous, Type thinks—and there’s something less than confident in the set of his shoulders. 

He looks unsure as hell, Type can’t help but notice. He lets the breath he was holding out through his nose. Maybe Tharn is confusing him for someone else, misremembering, and that thought makes Type feel more at ease.

“Me,” Type replies slowly. He pushes himself up off the sandy beach to stand before Tharn. He can’t bear to see that kind but blank look in Tharn’s eyes again so Type finds a spot over his shoulder to look at.

“I remember you,” Tharn says. Type hates the way those words drag his eyes to actually look at Tharn. The stupid little smile he has on his face punches him right in the gut.

"Right," Type replies, nodding his head as he tries to cram the sliver of hope that claws its way out back into the darkest parts of his heart. "From the convenience store.” That moment will be ingrained in his brain forever—standing under ugly florescent lights with a Tharn that had no idea who he was. 

Tharn’s expression sinks a little and Type flashes back to every time he’s seen that look on his face. He feels guilty for no reason. It’s not his place to worry and care about Tharn’s feelings anymore.

“Type,” Tharn says quietly, reverently, and his eyes are soft when they look at him.

Type’s stomach drops. He’s missed hearing his name come out of Tharn’s mouth, the sound of it, the shape of it on his lips, but Tharn definitely shouldn’t know his name. He fucking had it erased.

“I _remember_ you.” Tharn continues because Type hasn’t said anything—can’t say anything. 

Tharn reaches behind him, digging into the back pocket of the khaki shorts he’s wearing for something. He holds it out toward Type. Type’s brain shifts from Tharn knowing his name and decides to function properly. His eyes drop down to the little blue square. 

A flashback of heartache and desperation clawing up his chest rips through his mind. He remembers the tears in his eyes as he wrote the words staring up at him. Something inside Type breaks to pieces as he takes the post-it. 

With a shaking hand, he crumbles it in his palm and shoves it in his own pocket. 

“What do you want?” Type asks. His voice is harsh but he doesn’t know how else to cover up how terrified he is that this is a massive cosmic joke. 

Tharn shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t know Type—or his name—but here he is where Type never thought he would be, saying impossible things like he remembers _him_. Tharn looks at Type and the fear he feels is reflected back at him on Tharn’s face.

“Type, I—” Tharn starts but Type, desperate almost possessed, pushes himself into Tharn’s personal space, right into his arms.

What was it he’d said to Tharn that night while they lay pressed together after Type had disastrously figured out his feelings for the man in front of him. _I’m not letting you go again._

“You fucking asshole!” The words are all at once a whisper and an explosion when they come out of Type’s mouth; they had been caged too long in his ribs, on his tongue, behind his teeth. “You had me erased!” 

All the anger, the resentment, the hurt, that he’s built up over these awful months without Tharn bleeds out of Type the second his forehead hits Tharn’s collarbone.

Tharn’s arms move and settle around him, and every atom in Type’s body sighs _finally_.

“You had me erased, you dickhead.” Type says against Tharn’s chest. He’s aware of how bratty he sounds but he doesn’t care. Not now. Not when Tharn is in his arms and holding him back. “Bastard. I hate you.”

Tharn laughs into his hair and Type thinks that of all the things he’s missed, maybe he’s missed that sound the most.

“I’m so sorry, Type,” Tharn says against Type’s temple.

“Just shut up, asshole Tharn.” Type replies, his hands fisting into Tharn’s shirt. 

It isn’t like he hadn’t once, and only once, let himself think about a scenario like this playing out. Tharn had come back to him and Type was a raging fire. He’d cursed him to hell and back. In that petty little fantasy, Type told Tharn he could throw himself off the Krungthep Bridge and drown in the Chao Phraya and maybe in his next life Type would forgive him. 

But the reality is—it’s easy for Type to forgive Tharn.

He pulls Tharn forward, as if they weren’t already impossibly close, and Type kisses him, doesn’t stop kissing him until they are both breathless from it. He stands almost nose-to-nose with Tharn and looks him in the eyes before he speaks.

“I forgive you.” He says, wiping at the tears that fall from Tharn’s eyes. “I will always forgive you.”

“Type—” Tharn’s voice breaks as he buries his head in the crook of Type’s shoulder. 

“Honestly, I’m sorry too.” Type says, without pretense. “I almost went crazy with sorrow after breaking up with you. I just wanted to protect you—to open your eyes.”

Tharn sniffs against his shoulder. “I know,” he replies, “P’Thorn told me everything. Were you the one that sent me the clip?”

“Damn him, he promised me!” Type curses. He’s annoyed but not surprised. P’Thorn and Tharn are close, so of course, P’Thorn would pick his precious little brother over the ex that broke said brother’s heart. “Yeah, I sent it. Ai’No edited it and then I sent it through a text app. I’m sorry I hurt you. I just wanted you to see for yourself what Lhong was capable of.”

The truth, as messy as it is, hangs in the air between them. It feels freeing to have said it, but a part of Type is anxious about Tharn’s silence. He worries that Tharn will change his mind about this—about Type, about them.

“Tharn?” Type hedges softly.

“Promise me you won’t ever say those words to me again,” Tharn says, pulling back from Type to look him in the eyes. The set of his jaw is firm, serious, despite his tear-filled eyes and snotty nose.

_Let’s break up, Tharn._

Type thinks that if he says those words ever again, he might not survive. Out loud he says, “I promise, Tharn. Just name it and I will do anything to prove it.” He means every word.  
If Tharn wants him to get down on his knees and beg, Type will do it. He looks at Tharn, the last of the sun’s deep golden rays illuminating him from behind, and knows his entire future is standing right in front of him.

Tharn's arms clench around him. His eyes, though red and watery, are soft and imploring. “Get back together with me. Stay with me forever.”

The words and his shaking voice crack through Type’s bones, burying themselves in his ribs. They bloom there, filling him with warmth. A sense of home and belonging.

Type smiles, placing a kiss at the corner of Tharn’s mouth. Soft and sweet. “Let’s be together for the rest of our lives.” Foreheads pressed together, Type speaks quietly, with reverence, the words that he’s wanted to say but has been too scared to.

“I love you... asshole Tharn.”

The smile that stretches across Tharn’s face shakes Type to his core. The joy, the happiness, that radiates from him is so brilliant it spills into Type. He tucks that image, that feeling, somewhere deep inside of himself as something to be treasured. 

Type can’t help but laugh as Tharn trembles in his arms, tears wetting his shirt when Tharn buries himself in Type’s chest. He thinks about something Techno told him once, that what he and Tharn had must have been fated—destiny. And maybe their first go-round was, but standing here with Tharn now, Type knows it was also a choice. A choice they made _twice_.

A choice Type will always make. He will always choose Tharn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big heaping of thanks to everyone who commented/left kudos on previous chapters. i'm so touched by all the kindness! 
> 
> tumblr | [here](https://sunflowertypes.tumblr.com/)  
> playlist | [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1lAzR1NONlemwm3QO9XR18?si=m5bVAGueSjSYudnI9i4XAA)


	6. swear not by the moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **thank you:** [sopetrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopetrash/profile) and [bichenqing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bichenqing/profile) for all your help i love you both ;3;

When Type lets himself into Tharn’s rented room, night has already enveloped the island. The sky is bible-black, punctured through with stars. Moonless and humid. The quietness has him holding his breath as he slides the key-card in through the reader. Type only releases it when he shuts the door behind him.

After their reunion on the beach, they had decided to go their separate ways at the path leading up to the resort and meet up later in Tharn’s room. After tonight, Type will stay on the island for the rest of the week like he promised his parents while Tharn will go back to Bangkok.

From the bathroom, Type can hear the shower running and Tharn faintly humming to himself under the spray of water. It’s not hard for him to imagine the scene in near-perfect detail. He’s showered enough times with Tharn that he knows, like muscle memory, what it feels like to have Tharn humming against the column of his neck, just under his ear.

Type stands at the door for a moment feeling like a man reborn, senses already overloading. Electric and alive. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. They have all night, and when Type gets back to Bangkok—back to _their_ apartment, they’ll have all the time in the world. 

Type slips out of his sandals. He puts the key-card and the containers of dinner his mom made down on the sleek, wooden table that hugs the wall in front of the large bed. He closes the curtains. Type’s skin stretches tight against his bones as he turns on one of the overhead lamps beside the bed. The light bounces off the deep pink wall and gives the room a soft, intimate glow.

The shower goes off and the room is quiet. Still. Warm despite the air conditioner being on. Heavy with possibility.

Type stretches himself across the bed. The comforter is cool against his hot skin. He throws his arm over his eyes. Waiting. Every atom in his body is attuned to the man taking his sweet time in the bathroom. Bastard.

There’s a muted click of the door opening and Type sighs. “Finally. I thought you were going to be in there until I died of boredom.”

He peaks at Tharn from under the bend of his elbow. The complementary blue robe he’s wearing is opened in a V at Tharn’s chest. It’s secured at his waist in a way that it doesn’t expose more than a teasing glimpse of muscle. The soft light of the room creates tantalizing shadows and Type’s fingers twitch—eager to feel, to touch.

The robe ends a little bit above Tharn’s knee and when he crosses his feet at his ankles, Type’s stomach tightens. Tharn isn’t wearing anything underneath. His eyes move upwards and find Tharn staring back at him, amused. Self-satisfied.

“You look like a jackass,” Type says, trying to buffer the intensity of his want for Tharn with sarcasm.

Tharn only laughs and slides on the bed bedside Type. Sadly, he does it in such a way that the robe stays in place and Type doesn’t get the eyeful he wanted.

Tharn reaches out and touches him. His warm fingers ghost down Type’s arm from his bare shoulder to his wrist with surprising patience. The Tharn in front of him is different from what Type was expecting. He takes his time bringing Type’s hand to his mouth, pressing his lips against the spot where Type knows his pulse is jumping under his skin.

He lingers there for a moment and Type uses his free hand to card his fingers through Tharn’s damp hair. Tharn turns his head into the motion.

“Tharn,” Type says, almost whispers.

“I missed you,” Tharn replies.

“You didn’t even remember me,” Type keeps his tone light. He’s forgiven Tharn. It’s over and done.

“I still missed you,” Tharn says. “You were always in here,” he uses Type’s finger to point at his head and then his heart, “somewhere.”

Tharn interlocks their fingers, bringing their connected hands to rest close to his chest. From under his lashes, Tharn’s dark eyes glitter in the dim pink lighting. They watch and reflect Type back at himself, bewitching him almost. 

The way Tharn looks at him gives Type goosebumps and that strange feeling from before, of his skin being stretched too tight across his bones, comes back. He can't help but to lean in and kiss Tharn. 

They do nothing more than a brush of lips, but Type flushes warm from head to toe. It's stupid, but everything feels new and it excites him.

His index finger had hooked itself into the front of Tharn’s robe during their brief kiss. Tharn’s skin is hot against the back of his knuckle and it’s easy for Type’s finger to slip further into the shadows between fabric and flesh. He brushes Tharn’s nipple, finding it hard—as if waiting for his touch. 

“So, do you remember everything?” He asks, watching Tharn’s eyes as they fall half-closed.

“Maybe,” Tharn replies. He hisses when Type pinches his nipple. “If I don’t, are you going to refresh my memory?”

“Maybe,” Type parrots back, “if you call me P’Type.”

Tharn moves in one quick, fluid motion. Type has enough time to let out a short huff as Tharn pulls him forward, using that momentum to push himself up and on top of him, pressed between Type’s legs. His heart thunders in his ears with shock and excitement. Until he looks down.

The robe, at some point, had unloosened and Type gets the eyeful he wanted, except it highlights some of the after-effects of their break up. Tharn is somewhat skinnier than Type remembers, his stomach less defined and collar bones more pointed. Type reaches out and glides his hand down the expanse of Tharn’s torso.

“Sorry,” he finds himself saying. How many meals did Tharn miss because of him?

Tharn smiles softly at him before leaning down and kissing him, pressing forgiveness into Type’s waiting mouth with his tongue. Type’s fingers curl into the flesh of Tharn’s thighs, his worry giving way to a low simmering want. 

He missed the feel of Tharn—the firmness of him, all of his sharp and soft edges. Now that they are his to touch again Type doesn’t know where to begin.

Tharn pulls back slowly, like he’s savoring the taste of Type, and that twists something low in his stomach. 

“You’ll make it up to me,” Tharn says, quiet and sure. A promise—one that Type fully intends to keep. 

“Now, where was I?” Tharn asks. His mouth finds the sensitive shell of Type’s ear. “Oh, right. I was remembering...you, P’Type.”

Type shivers and bares his neck, looking at Tharn through heavy-lidded eyes.

It's an invitation and Tharn doesn't waste it. His lips move down from his ear to the column of Type’s neck. “Do you remember, P’Type, when you first asked me to have sex with you? I remember.” He says before he bites down delicately.

Type whimpers in a mix of lust and embarrassment. He remembers the way Tharn stretched him open, slow and gentle, made room for himself inside Type’s body. He remembers how much he liked it once the pain ebbed into pleasure; how much he continued to crave it—like an itch under his skin that was only satisfied when Tharn was inside him.

His breath hitches as Tharn continues to map his memories out on Type’s body.

“The way you looked when I was inside you,” Tharn says as he tugs at Type’s shirt, pulling it up just under Type’s chin to reveal his torso. It feels lewd and he squirms even as Tharn looks down appreciatively at him. It makes Type blush and he’s glad for the dim lighting of the room.

“The way you sounded. The way you felt. I remember it all.” Tharn licks his lips, snagging his bottom lip between his teeth.

Type remembers that too, and for a moment, they relive that first moment in reverse. Tharn reaches out to trail his fingers down Type’s chest like he’s the nervous, inexperienced one. He looks at Type.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone more than I wanted you.” Tharn’s voice is quiet, like he’s suddenly unsure and it makes Type snort.

“You idiot,” Type says, reaching up to draw Tharn close to him. “You can have me.”

Saying that makes Type’s ears burn but it’s the truth. He will always be Tharn’s.

Tharn kisses him on the mouth, hot and wet, and Type kisses him back until Tharn’s lips move from his. They find their way down his chin, to his Adam’s apple. His throat. He leaves a trail of nips and bites until he reaches Type’s shirt.

He has it off in seconds and then kisses the entire expanse of Type’s chest. Each and every spot—all of them sensitive and all of them are Type’s favorite places to be touched—is given slow, careful attention by Tharn’s fingers, lips, and especially his mouth.

When the flat of Tharn’s tongue presses against his nipple, Type gasps. He’s a thread being pulled apart, fraying at the edges as Tharn’s teeth scrape, gentle but firm, against his nipple.

“Do you plan to just spend the night sucking on my chest?” Type manages to ask. He doesn’t mind it but there are other things he really, really wants instead.

Tharn gives his nipple a last flick with his tongue but backs off. He settles down beside Type once more. He’s hard and Type swallows thickly. He reaches down and touches him, feeling the weight and girth of Tharn in his hands—just remembering it. 

“I didn’t bring anything with me, Type,” Tharn says. Even as he watches Type stroke his dick, he somehow looks so pitiful when he admits it that Type laughs out loud.

“Are you saying Ai’Pervert didn’t come prepared?” Type needles playfully.

Tharn reaches out and pokes him on the nose. “And you did?”

A giddy rush of childish excitement crawls under Type’s skin as he pulls a handful of foil-wrapped condoms along with several packets of lube from his pocket. He lays them in the scant bit of space between his body and Tharn’s.

“Take off my shorts.” Type whispers.

Tharn’s eyes go wide but his hands are quick. He has Type’s shorts and boxers down in one go. Type’s own dick is hard and when Tharn takes it in his hand he hisses. He scoots into Tharn’s personal space, hips bucking up into his hand. 

He bites Tharn’s neck, sharp and quick, reveling in the moan his boyfriend lets loose. Type feels the indentation of his teeth in Tharn’s flesh with his tongue.

_Remember, you’ll always be mine..._

“Touch me,” he says in the space where Tharn’s neck meets his shoulder. He takes the hand Tharn has around his cock and guides it over the rise of his hip to the swell of his ass.

_And I’ve always been yours._

Type’s ears burn. He’d done it on a whim—stretched himself open in the shower before walking to Tharn’s room. Type hadn’t even been sure that the night would go down this road, but he had _hoped_. Tharn’s fingers slip between his cheeks and Type knows when he feels the slick of the lube—when his mind connects the dots—because his dick pulses against Type’s thigh.

His eyes are dark and hungry when they look at Type. It makes the muscles in his stomach bunch in excitement.

“Type what—” Tharn groans out but Type doesn’t want to hear it, not right now.

“If you say anything, I’ll kill you.” Type menaces.

“Give me the lube.”

“Get it yourself.”

Tharn’s finger presses just so against his hole and Type drops his head against Tharn’s chest. “Asshole,” Type hisses. He wants Tharn so much and the jerk knows it. 

He blindly reaches for the packets and grabs them all and passes them off to Tharn. The crinkle of the foil opening seems loud in the breathless silence until Tharn’s finger is back, slick and warm, pressing into Type’s body and forcing a moan out of both of them. 

Tharn takes his time stretching him open, slow and sweet. Type hates the desperate sound that comes out of him, the way his hips lift to seek out the pleasure only Tharn can give him. 

Fuck, he wants it.

“Just put it in!” Type snaps. 

“Not yet,” Tharn replies and nuzzles against him even as he pulls one of Type’s legs over his. It lets him push another finger in.

Type can’t help the throaty whine that escapes him. Tharn knows—remembers—just where to press to make it good, to have Type’s hips jerk as his body goes warm all over.

Once Tharn had said Type was made for him, that being with him, and inside of him, felt too good for it not to be true. Type thinks that maybe, in this dizzying bliss of his body catching fire, Tharn was made for him too. No one else knew him the way Tharn did.

“Roll over,” Tharn says, gently nudging Type on his side.

Type’s stomach flutters. He loves when they do it like this; Tharn pressed against his back with Type held tightly in the cage of his arms on his side. But Type takes his time in obeying so he can watch Tharn slide the condom over his dick. For the first time since his shower, Type grabs his own. Knowing that Tharn is going to fuck him produces a thick bead of pre-cum on his cockhead. 

Tharn’s warm body settles behind him, watching him jerk off. 

“Impatient,” he says against Type’s neck, fluttering kisses on his shoulder even as the thick head of his dick pressed against Type’s hole.

Type’s hand latches onto Tharn’s where it’s squeezing his hip. “Fuck you—” he bites his tirade off to moan as Tharn pushes into him.

The noise Tharn makes, some animalistic sound at the back of his throat, and the feeling of his cock slipping in and out of his body puts Type on the edge. He loses himself to the desperate sensation that claws up his spine, that has him groaning Tharn’s name. That has him begging for more, more, more.

Type will only ever be greedy for Tharn.

The control Tharn had displayed earlier is gone, his hips snapping into Type’s in a brutal pace, and it thrills Type to his core. 

He pushes his head back, wanting Tharn to kiss him, and moans when he gets what he wants. Type’s hand finds his cock, stroking it in the same rhythm Tharn has built up as he pushes in and out of his body.

Tharn’s fingers walk up his chest, finding one of his nipples, and Type’s stomach clenches pleasantly in warning—a siren song he doesn’t resist. 

“Ai’Tharn... Harder!” Type manages to moan against his boyfriend’s lips. 

Tharn gives him exactly what he asked for and his orgasm hits him low and deep like a thunderclap. Type comes with a sharp cry, swallowed by Tharn’s tongue in his mouth.

It doesn’t take Tharn too much longer to finish either, hips stuttering against Type’s ass as he orgasms, his groan a rich sound in Type’s ear. They lay tangled together for a moment, giving each other small, fluttering kisses as they calm down.

There’s so much love inside of him for Tharn that Type doesn’t know what to do with it. Giving him tiny kisses is all he has the energy for and it gets Tharn to chuckle, the sound settling warm under Type’s skin.

“I love you,” Type says, soft and reverent, kissing Tharn’s nose. Just for tonight, he’ll be sickly sweet because the way Tharn smiles at him, looks at him, makes him happy. If he’s learned anything from this ordeal, they could both use some happiness whenever they can get it.

Tharn kisses Type’s sweaty forehead, his temple, down to his cheek, and then his lips. Between each one, he says, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” Each confession imprints itself on Type’s heart, down to his bones, and maybe even his soul.

Eventually, Tharn slips out of the bed. He kisses Type’s neck before he gets up to put the condom in the trash. Type listens, drowsy and loved, to him turn on the sink in the bathroom. 

He’s asleep before Tharn comes back.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Type is up first, aching and sore, just as the sun’s morning rays fall in bright bands through the curtain. He sits up and stretches, wincing at the uncomfortable tug in his lower back and hips. He hadn’t necessarily forgotten what sex with Tharn was like, but his body definitely wasn’t used to it. 

At his right, Tharn doesn’t budge even when Type leans in and presses his nose to his cheek, sniffing delicately. They had gone two more rounds later in the night, each one progressively slower and relaxed than the previous. Type still remembers the feel of Tharn’s mouth at his ankle, working its way up his body.

Tharn is a menace in bed, but Type loves it—not that he’d say it out loud. Ever.

Type gets up and leaves the said menace sleeping, drool at the corner of his open mouth, and showers as quietly as he can. The hot blasts of water help with the aches, but just barely. Some of the pains feel bone-deep.

He gets a good look at himself in the mirror as he dries off—kiss marks bruise the base of his neck, down his rib cage. Type can even make out the faint shape of Tharn’s fingers on his hip bones. There’s a scratch mark between his thighs, too.

Type shakes his head. That asshole! He won’t be doing any maintenance work shirtless until they fade.

As if able to hear his thoughts, Tharn stirs as Type is shrugging into a shirt he plucked out of Tharn’s overnight bag.

“What time is it?” He slurs, eyes not even open. Someone as overgrown as Tharn is wouldn’t be considered cute. Handsome—sexy even—fits him better, but when he’s not completely awake Type supposes he’s cute.

“It’s still early. Go back to bed,” Type says, smoothing Tharn’s hair down before kissing his forehead.

“I’ll see you at home?” Tharn asks even as he settles back into bed.

Type pauses at the door. Home. The apartment he hasn’t stepped foot in for months. _Their_ apartment. Thinking about going back there, where Tharn will be waiting for him this time, fills Type’s chest with a sudden homesickness.

“I’ll think about it.” He responds, as neutral as he can—then he laughs as Tharn shouts his name. Type shuts the door just in time to miss being hit by a flying pillow.

He stands there for a moment, back against the door, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: _googles how to write smut._ i’m sorry if this was awful, i tried ;;
> 
> anyway, thank you all so much for sticking through this wild ride with me!
> 
> tumblr | [here](https://sunflowertypes.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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